Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Fuck him. He’s not worth the salt of your tears.”
“Oh, I’m done crying,” she says with a heartening vehemence. “It’s just . . . all this.” It’s not hard to guess what she’s referring to. The hotel. The day. The felicitations. “He gets all this after the way he treated me. There’s no justice, you know?”
But as I twirl us around, he doesn’t look joyous. Not that I say so. “How about we send him a tiny fuck you?”
“What do you have in mind?” So much suggestion in her tone. So much interest in the brightness of her eyes. She gives a little gasp as my arm brushes her waist, but it’s nothing compared to her expression as I pull her body tight, pressing my fingers to her peach of an arse.
“Try not to look too shocked,” I murmur. “You’re supposed to be used to my hands.”
“It’s not your hands that are shocking.” Her lips clamp together, but the words are already out there. “Please ignore that I said that,” she quickly adds.
I give a soft laugh as pleasure ripples through me. “I don’t think I can. You called me a peacock, and now I feel like one.”
“Is that what you have stuffed down your pants? Oh my good Lord,” she adds in a hushed yet mortified tone. “I should not have chugged both glasses of champagne. It must’ve gone to my head.”
Just like she’s gone to mine.
“A peacock,” I murmur ponderingly. “Well, it’s not fully . . . cocked. Just a little interest, let’s say.”
“This is so inappropriate.” But she’s smiling, even if she’s trying not to.
“You started it. But I can finish it,” I offer, deftly twirling us again. “Finish you.”
She blinks as she tries to discern my meaning.
“I have no words,” she says, her lashes still fluttering. “But at least the view is better this way.”
Now that I’m blocking her line of sight, she means. I have that pleasure, and he’s not at all what I expected. Which was a finance nerd, the kind that gets off on spreadsheets and wears an overpriced fleece vest to hide his pigeon chest. He doesn’t fit that stereotype at all. Six feet, at a guess, blond, and my money is on blue eyed, though it’s hard to tell, considering the feckers are narrowed like slits currently.
That’s it, arsewipe. Take a good look at who’s manhandling her now.
“Your man is watching us awful closely for someone who’s just gotten married.”
“He’s not my man. I also don’t care.”
“But he does,” I say, dipping her for good measure, my eyes meeting his as I do. Yeah, fucker, take a good look.
“What are you doing?” Her tone is slightly panicked, though her leg slides against my thigh, her body fully on board.
“What Latin lovers do.” Hand splayed against her sternum, my fingertips feather the smooth wings of her collarbones. I give a satisfied purr before I pull her up again. “Dancing is a vertical expression of—”
“A horizontal desire?”
“Old-school missionary, I was gonna say.” I don’t know whether it’s the role I’m playing that makes me say these things or whether it’s desire or jealousy. I just know I want more than this moment.
The beat changes, and it’s like someone up there is looking out for me. I slide an arm around her waist and my thigh between her legs.
“What the heck—”
“Just go with it. He’s still watching.” Not that I’d know, because I’m no longer looking at him.
Dancing with Ryan is the next best thing to having her in my bed. The proximity. The touching, bodies moving with synchronicity. I lead, she submits. I give and she . . .
Fuck. I clasp my arms tighter, one hand on her backside and the fingers of my other curled around her ribs. And my God, can she move. Sultry, sinuous, all undulating provocativeness as I press my lips to the curve of her neck. She smells of exotic blooms and secrets and tastes like she might—
“Ryan.” A man’s voice, deep and assured.
Under my lips and my hands, she freezes. I straighten, pulling her in front of me as I slide possessive arms around her waist. Our bodies still flush, my front pressed to her back, I’m a bear hug of possessiveness. And it feels so right.
“Pete.” Check out the pronunciation of that t. “And Annabelle.” I almost hear her forced smile. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you,” the bride murmurs.
“Congratulations. To both of you.”
“It’s so good of you to come,” the bride adds when the groom does not.
“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!” Such forced pluck barely drowning out those piss and vinegar undertones. “This is Nathaniel—Nate. My boyfriend.”
All of a sudden, Pete looks like he’s sucking lemons.
How about balls, Pete. Suck on these balls.
“¡Enhorabuena!” I begin, my congratulations all magnanimous obliviousness as I nuzzle my stunning girlfriend, besotted. “I wish you much ’appiness.” A little bit of Mario isn’t gonna kill anyone. Except my foot as Ryan presses the point of her heel to my toes.